


kiss me or kill me (but either way do it on your knees)

by AllTheNamesIWantedWereUsed



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Assassin!Robbie, Assassins & Hitmen, Conspiracy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Gen, Princes & Princesses, Princess!Daisy, Royalty, Slow Burn, Teaching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2018-12-14 22:37:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11792925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheNamesIWantedWereUsed/pseuds/AllTheNamesIWantedWereUsed
Summary: This is unbelievable. He’s killed legendary warriors, corrupt lords, even a king here and there, and he’s caught by a princess and locked in her closet. It isn’t just unbelievable; it’s absolutely maddening.Or: AU where Daisy is a princess and recruits a well-known assassin to help her kill the queen of Afterlife, and maybe, just maybe, falls in love along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for the support from whistlingwindtree and modernvictoria, who has a stunning royalty au that you should all definitely check out if you haven't already

A waxing yellow moon and the smell of rain hang in the sky as thick-soled leather boots traipse through the mud, the hooded figure they belong to moving fluidly down the dirt road, pausing outside a dimly lit tavern, glancing at the worn sign hanging above the door. The wooden door opens with a creak and the tavern welcomes in another soul with a darkened past.

 

Lance Hunter would be the last to admit his lack of courage, as any man would, but as he wanders through the establishment, his apprehension only grows as he glances down at the slip of paper he had received earlier.

 

_If you wish to meet, be at Canelo’s Tavern before midnight. I will be at the second table near the window on the left wall. I will not speak to you until you ask how to enter hell._

 

Cryptic, and a bit on the suspicious side, but considering who he was meeting, perhaps that was only fitting. Still, he wishes that Bobbi was doing this instead of him.

 

Warily, he approaches the second table near the window on the left wall, where another person sits, just as cloaked as Hunter, too tall and too broad-shouldered to be a woman (or at least to be like the women he’s known.)

 

“Are you...him?” Hunter asks, taking the seat across from his contact.

 

The other man says nothing, his expression obscured by the hood.

 

“You’re quite a serious bloke, aren’t you?”  Hunter tries to joke.

 

Still nothing.

 

“Right, well...how would one get into hell-enter it, that is?”

 

“Become a sinner and give yourself over to the devil.” A voice, low and certainly not menacing whatsoever, issues from under the hood, and Hunter finds himself wishing even harder than Bobbi had come with him.

 

“I didn’t think the Ghost Rider would the religious type,” Hunter says, but his smile falters when the man sitting across from him flicks his wrist and a rather lethal-looking silver dagger slides into his hand.

 

“Keep your voice down and choose your words carefully or they may be your last.”

 

“Right, my apologies,” Hunter says, his eyes locked on the gleaming blade that twirls in The Rider’s hand. This had been a big mistake.

 

“Who is the target, and how do I know this is worth my time?” The Rider asks. Hunter pulls out a bulging, worn leather money purse from under his cloak and slides it across the table. The hand not holding a threatening dagger dips into the purse, pulling out a few gold coins that shine in the dim firelight of the tavern.

 

“This will make it worth your while, I’m sure,” Hunter says, “And as for the target…” His voice drops as he cautiously leans forward.

 

“Tell me, mate, what do you know about Princess Daisy of Afterlife?”

* * *

 

Slipping into Afterlife Castle with minimal to no casualties is no small feat, but Robbie has snuck into far more secure places and succeeded every time, so this is only mildly irritating.

 

His client was a bit unspecific as to why he wanted Queen Jiaying’s daughter dead, but Robbie has learned not to question his client’s motives, especially when they pay such a gracious sum of money to have their wishes fulfilled.

 

Why Hunter could have possibly wanted a pampered, scatterbrained rich brat dead was no longer a concern to him. He has a contract to fill now, and he was certainly going to come through.

 

According to the map of the palace he’d been given, the princess resides in a staggeringly tall tower up in the east wing, with only one window to its name and a few hundred stairs to climb. Clever, he supposes, as no one would be stupid enough to try and climb in the window with guards inconveniently posted at every angle where they would have the window in their line of vision.

 

Still, he wonders how the princess dealt with all those stairs. Perhaps she had her servants carry her down all the way. The thought makes him smirk and roll his eyes. One might think he was being unfair, but he’d met far too many children of royalty to think otherwise now.

 

Despite all the stairs, there are no guards outside her door when he reaches the top of it, something he finds rather odd. Perhaps the royal family is confident enough that the princess’s seclusion is enough to deter those who might cause her harm.

 

How wrong they would be.

 

The door is locked, but it’s child’s play to pick. Carefully, he eases the door open, peering inside, but sees no one. Palming a dagger in each hand, he steals into the room, only to find no one within.

 

That seems off. It’s well past midnight, and she should have been up here and in bed by now. His mind mulls over the possible reasons why she wouldn’t be here. Some sort of moonlight tryst, a party gone past its time limits…

 

No matter. He is a patient man, and if he must wait, then wait he shall. It isn’t as if he’s facing off against a war-hardened general, just a young woman who’s probably never been in a fight in her life, unless the stories told about her have some sort of truth to them.

 

He paces the room, careful not to put anything out of place. It looks like what one would expect a princess’s bedroom to look like: the entire room draped in silk, gold rimming the edges of every piece of furniture, even an obscenely large wooden closet. Something still feels wrong, and he can’t quite place it until he notices the closet door ajar, ever so slightly.

 

He takes a step toward it, but has no chance to take another, because at that moment there’s a sound of something whistling through the air and something sharp embeds itself in the skin just above his collarbone.

 

He swears through his teeth, fingers wrapping around the offending object and pulling it out. A small feathered dart is clenched in his hand, the tip stained with his blood, and doubles in his vision.

 

Another curse escapes him and he sways on his feet, the world bending and twisting in his line of sight as he stumbles and collapses to his knees. He hears a creaking and through his blurred sight, he can see the closet door push open even farther, a figure stepping out, but he can’t make heads or tails of their appearance.

 

He catches a glimpse of the hem of a dark blue dress just before something crashes into the side of his head and the world goes black.

* * *

 

He wakes up in darkness with a splitting headache, and the minute he tries to move, his fingers brush across something that feels like a spiderweb, but as his eyes adjust to the light, he sees that it’s just a dress made from some kind of gauzy material that itches his skin just by touching it. He tries to move his legs, but his feet run into something sturdy. He kicks out, and his feet slam into what he realizes is the closet door.

 

“So, you’re up,” says a female voice, and he bites his tongue to keep from cursing. “Keep it down, would you?”

 

He’s been set up. He’s going to kill Hunter.

 

This is unbelievable. He’s killed legendary warriors, corrupt lords, even a king here and there, and he’s caught by a princess and locked in her _closet_. It isn’t just unbelievable; it’s absolutely maddening.

 

Infuriated, he pounds on the closet door.

 

“Shh!” a girl hisses on the other side,a girl he guesses is the princess. “Do you want to get us both killed?”

 

“Well, I was planning on only getting you killed,” he snarls back through a crack in the door.

 

“Change of plans, I’m afraid,” she replies. “Now, listen very carefully, because what I’m about to say should concern us both.”

 

“If it isn’t silver and gold, Your Highness, I don’t give a damn,” he says airily.

 

“The kingdom is about to crumble and you want to talk about money?” she says in disbelief.

 

“Causing kingdoms to crumble is part of my job, princess,” he replies. “It’s just a matter of how much I’m paid.”

 

“Well, this time you’re being paid to save a kingdom,” she says, and he can hear her padding closer to the closet, “Now, stop your arrogance and listen to me because I’m about to become your most important client.”

 

He scoffs at that. “How so?”

 

“I need you to teach me how to be an assassin.”

 

If he weren’t so dumbstruck by her statement, he probably would have laughed.

 

“What?”

 

“You heard me.”

 

“And what does a delicate thing like you want with learning how to murder people?”

 

“Because-” She falls silent for a moment before taking a deep breath and saying, “I need to kill the queen.”

 

She’s just full of surprises.


	2. Chapter 2

“You can’t be serious.”

 

“I’m deadly serious.”

 

“What kind of cold-hearted creature wants to kill her own mother?” he demands.

 

“My duty is to my kingdom and its people, not my family,” she answers solemnly. “Besides...she is nothing like a mother to me.”

 

“Right, because you’ve only been in Afterlife for a few years; what attachment could you possibly have to the queen?”

 

“You’ve done your research.”

 

“It’s not hard to know your story; you can ask any old hag in the marketplace and you’ll be stuck there for an hour listening to some madwoman ramble on and on.” He winces at the memory, but continues, taking on a tone of grandeur. “The long-lost princess of Afterlife, thought to be dead and gone after a vicious attack on the castle by the kingdom of Hydra, but it’s all up in the air as to where she disappeared to for twenty seven years. Some say Hydra took you in, tried to mold you into a soldier, others say you were raised by wolves, and then there’s the one about you being kidnapped by dragons-”

 

“The truth is nowhere near as fantastical,” she says quietly.

 

“Well, they all agree on the same thing: you were found and rescued from a group of mercenaries, identified by the markings the king and queen placed on you at birth-” Where he comes from, the thought of branding members of the royal family seems like the worst idea ever brought to life, and yet it continues in Afterlife. 

 

“I wasn’t  _ rescued. _ ” She spits the last word with a venom he’d yet to hear from her. “I was taken against my will.”

 

“From the woods to palace grounds, what a tragedy,” he says, not bothering to conceal his sarcasm.

 

“I don’t expect you to understand where I’m coming from,” she snaps. “This  _ palace _ is as dangerous as a battlefield; the only difference is that your enemies wear your colors, wave your flags and pretend to fight alongside you until your back is turned. It’s cowardly, the way people fight here, all pretty clothes and silken lies.”

 

“Someone doesn’t like court politics. And for the record, I used to be a part of that, still am, in fact. I know exactly what it’s like, and I can’t imagine the mercenaries were any better-”

 

“They were my family,” she says tersely, “And there’s more honor among thieves than you might think.”

 

“I’m an assassin, darling, I’ve never met an honorable thief in my life.”

 

“You aren’t looking in the right places then.”

 

He snorts. “This is ridiculous. I’m here to kill you, and you want me to-”

 

“I’m the one who hired you through Hunter,” she says. “Consider it your first payment, not a contract you need to fulfill.”

 

“Damn. You know, there’s plenty of towers to throw yourself from, no need to call in an assassin.”

 

“I couldn’t meet you myself, and if you’d been caught, I couldn’t risk you telling anybody who you were really working for,” she explains, a bit exasperatedly. “I don’t have a death wish.”

 

Could’ve fooled him.

 

“I wouldn’t have been caught,” he says.

 

“The fact that I’ve got you locked in my closet begs to differ,” she counters coolly, and grates on his already wounded pride.

 

“What can I say? I was expecting a moronic, prattling brat. I was a bit wrong about the moronic part, though I admit I wasn’t expecting the part about you planning matricide.”

 

He can practically hear her scowl as she says, “I’m none of those things. I’m just someone who wants to do what’s best for the people of this kingdom.”

 

He rolls his eyes. “You sound so insufferably self-righteous.”

 

“This coming from the man who murders people for a living, I’ll take that with a grain of salt.”

 

“I try to only kill people who deserve it.”

 

She scoffs. “What about the sheriff you killed a few months ago?”

 

He laughs at that. “He had innocent blood on his hands.”

 

“The schoolteacher from the closest village?”

 

“A sinner who preyed on his students.”

 

“What about me?”

 

He hesitates, and he regrets it because it shows that he actually doesn’t have a respectable answer, though really, there’s nothing respectable about what he does. “I said ‘try,’ Your Highness. My morals come with a price.”

 

She falls silent for a moment, and he takes the opportunity to ask a few questions of his own.

 

“What of your father, the king?” he asks.

 

“He’s weakened rapidly over the years,  fallen ill by some unnatural means,” the princess answers.

 

“Unnatural means?”

 

“You’re an assassin. Surely you know what I mean by that.”

 

“Poison, of course, but by who?”

 

“Who else but the queen?” she replies, a bit bitterly. “With my father physically unfit to rule, it leaves a clear path for her to take up the mantle of Afterlife’s monarch.”

 

“You don’t call the queen your mother, but the king is your father?” he notes.

 

Silence answers him before she speaks, softly, “He’s a good man, blinded by love and easily manipulated. His emotions run hot at times, but he’s never lifted a finger against me or the queen, despite all the ways she’s misled him.”

 

“You are an odd woman,” he comments. “So you don’t want  _ him _ dead?”

 

“I’m not sure how much time he has left on this world,” she answers grimly. “His health has declined too much over the past few months. Once he dies, Jiaying is free to reign with all the power she pleases.” She speaks the queen’s name like it’s poison on her tongue. “So you see my problem. If I am unable to get rid of the queen before she takes full power, then we are all as good as dead.”

 

“And you want me to teach you how to kill.”

 

“I know how to kill. I’ve lived and fought countless mercenaries, trained under the guards here at the castle...what I need is an assassin’s stealth, a way to slip in and out without arousing too much attention.”

 

“Why me?”

 

“I’ve heard the stories about you, too,” she says. “They call you the Ghost Rider, correct?”

 

“It’s a moniker I’ve grown to like.”

 

“You can get in and out of a place and make it look like no one was there. I need to learn how to do that.”

 

He goes quiet, pretending to consider. “No.”

 

“I’ll pay you in full once Jiaying is dead and buried,” she says, a pleading note to her voice. “I can even grant you a full pardon for the crimes you’ve committed here in Afterlife-”

 

“How stupid do you think I am?” he asks. “For all I know, you’re going to turn me in.”

 

“If that was the case, the guards would’ve had you in the dungeons the moment I shot you with the sleeping dart.”

 

She has a semblance of a point there, though he decides not to mention all the stairs they’d have to climb first. “What’s the queen done to warrant murdering her in her sleep?” 

 

“Can I hope that you asked Hunter a similar question when he sent you after me?” 

 

“Said he had a life-long blood feud against you. Those bore me and I didn’t care to hear the details, nor did he offer any.” 

 

She gives a short, humorless laugh. “And you call me odd.”

 

“I’m not trying to persuade an assassin to help me murder my mother,” he counters.

 

She grows silent again before saying, “If I let you out, can I have your word that you won’t try and kill me? So we can have this conversation in a more...conventional way?”

 

“I don’t know, princess, I have a contract to see through,” he says, and he’s only half-joking. 

 

She sighs in frustration, and he can feel the retort ready to fly when he says, “I’m joking. I won’t kill you; you have my word on that.”

 

“Try anything and there’s another sleeping dart in it for you,” she says, and he can hear her voice coming closer. 

 

His mind starts racing, trying to decide whether to stay or shove her down the stairs and run once she opens the door, but it doesn’t matter because that’s when a curt knock comes from farther in the room, and he lets out an irritated groan at the sound.

 

The princess has a visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment/kudos, please!


	3. Chapter 3

Of all the worst possible times….

 

Daisy lets out a stream of muttered curses.

 

“Language, princess,” The Ghost Rider drawls from inside her closet. “You call yourself royalty?”

 

“Shh!” she hisses, before calling to her visitor, “Just a minute!” 

 

“Stay quiet or we’re both dead,”  she whispers to her captive.

 

She doesn’t hear a sarcastic reply, and thankful that someone is finally listening to her, she strides over to the door and opens it. 

 

“Sir Gordon,” she greets, feeling a flash of panic turn her stomach into knots

 

“Your Highness,” he replies, his eyes staring ahead as lifeless, milky white orbs. Thin, tall, and graying, one would never think he was Jiaying’s advisor, head of the guard and a talented knight. “Your mother wished me to inform you that she would like to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”

 

Her stomach turns. “Of course. Could you give me a moment to change? Go on ahead without me, tell my mother I’ll be down shortly.”

 

Gordon only nods and turns back to the long flight of stairs before him, but pauses. 

 

“Something wrong?” Daisy asks innocently.

 

“Why is your dresser in front of your closet?” 

 

How the hell he knows things like that being as blind as he is, she has no idea.

 

Channeling the same scatterbrained part she’d playing for the past two years, she laughs. “Oh, that. Well, I’m thinking about doing a bit of redecorating and I wanted to see how the dresser would look in that spot, so I moved it. Took a lot out of me, but I managed.”

 

“You’ll need to get to your closet to change.”

 

“I will, won’t I?” she says, a little uncertainly.

 

“I could help you move it-”

 

“No, but thank you, Gordon. I did it once, I can do it again- why don’t you go on and tell my mother that I’m coming.”

 

His expression is one that clearly conveys that she is odd and an idiot, but she ignores that and he continues down the stairs.

 

Daisy’s always amazed that he hasn’t tripped and broken his neck without the use of his eyes. She shuts the door and hopes Gordon hadn’t heard her talking to Ghost Rider, otherwise they’re both as good as dead. 

 

She waits, listening for Gordon’s steps to echo away down the stone steps. “I think he’s gone,” she says, turning back. She’s suddenly immensely grateful that it was Gordon and no one else who came because all of the Ghost Rider’s weapons and supplies are shoved half-heartedly under her bed from where she was going through them, poorly hidden, but concealed enough that Gordon couldn’t sense them, or however he gets around, really. It reminds her of Matthew Murdock, a boy she used to know when she was a child.

 

“Let’s hope so, or else you’ve damned us both. Now let me out of here,” the assassin in her closet says. 

 

She approaches the dresser, scooping her blowdart gun (a present from one of her old mercenary friends) off the top of it, toying with the key in her pocket. She’d locked the closet,  but wasn’t sure how strong he was, so she’d moved the heavy oak dresser in front of the door. 

 

“Hello? Are you still there?” 

 

In response, she starts pushing the dresser out of the way, wincing at the way it scrapes across the floor. 

 

“Who was that?” the Ghost Rider asks. 

 

“My mother’s advisor, and the head of her security,” Daisy answers, leaning into the dresser with her shoulder. “I think he’s a mage of some sort...or something.”

 

“What makes you say that?” he scoffs. 

 

“He’s completely blind, but I’ve seen him kill four armed men with ease. It’s like one minute he’s there, and in the next he’s somewhere completely different. It’s not natural.”

 

“Lots of things aren’t natural in this world,” he counters.

 

“Like what?”

 

Silence answers her. It appears she’s treading into darker waters.

 

At this point, she’s ready to drown.

 

The dresser is out of the way now, and she’s only a few inches away from the lock. Gripping the blowdart gun in her hand, she slips the key into the lock and turns it.

 

She steps back as the door swings open, not sure what to expect.

* * *

 Light floods Robbie’s vision, more than the crack in the door had allowed, and he’s staggered by it. He doesn’t have any of his gear with him save for a single dagger sewn into the folds of his cloak, and he rips the flimsy stitches holding it in, stepping out of the closet cautiously with the blade in hand, cursing at the ache in his cramped legs. 

 

He only has to turn his head to see her. He’s not sure what he expected, but it wasn’t quite this. 

 

She doesn’t look like much at first glance. She’s short, with long dark hair that tumbles in waves past her shoulders, and her stance screams defensiveness, but there’s a determined fire in her brown eyes that skews his entire impression of her.

 

She’s lifted to her lips what would look like a smoking pipe to the uncultured soul who’s never stepped foot outside his own village, but Robbie is a seasoned traveler, and he knows a blowdart gun when he sees one. 

 

“Not my weapon of choice,” he says, gesturing at it with his dagger, “But it’s original, I’ll give you that.” He twirls the blade in his hand, just to mess with her a bit. It works, too; he can see her shoulders tense and her fingers curl around the blowdart gun a little tighter. 

 

“Drop your dagger,” she orders. He scoffs at that.

 

“So you have free reign to put me to sleep for all of eternity? I don’t think so.”

 

“I need your help,” she says, irritatedly. “I need you awake, but that doesn’t mean I won’t defend myself if this goes badly.”

 

“And you’d have me defenseless?”

 

“Considering what I’ve heard about you, you wouldn’t be completely defenseless. Drop it.”

 

“You have no authority over me, princess. I don’t have to do a damned thing you say.”

 

“Don’t call me ‘princess.’”

 

“What would you have me call you, then?”

 

“My name. Daisy,” she replies. “What’s yours?” 

 

“How adorable. You really think I’m going to tell you,” he says dryly. 

 

“I can’t keep calling you Ghost Rider,” she argues. “I need some sort of name for you.” 

 

“Why would you need a name for me? I’m not going to help you.” 

 

She gives a frustrated sigh. “I’ll pay you in full once Jiaying is dead.”

 

“You’d dip into the royal treasury to pay an assassin? You must really want to be queen,” he comments. All the more reason not to help her, really. He’d rather not deal with ambitious heirs. In his experience, they make everything messy.

 

“I don’t want to be queen,” she says quietly. 

 

“I’m sure.” His condescending tone seems to only anger her.

 

“I don’t!” she says hotly. “I want to go back to my old life and leave this pile of marble in the dust, but I can’t, not while Jiaying is in power, and definitely not once she’s dead.” 

 

“The fact that you’re willing to throw away everything to do something you don’t want to makes no sense,” he says.

 

“I don’t give a damn what makes sense to you. I’m the one who has to live with this decision, and I’m making it.”

 

“You’ll have to make it without me, then,” Robbie says curtly, his gaze flicking over to the window. Maybe…

 

“Jiaying is a tyrant!” the princess exclaims. “She’s done horrible, horrible things, but she covers it up with veiled threats and promises of favors.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“I’ve seen her kill loyal soldiers to prove a point, I’ve seen her murder innocent people in cold blood; and I know that’s she’s ordered experiments on those in debtor’s prison. Good people have died at her hands,” she says, sounding more and more desperate. 

 

If it weren’t for the plea in her voice, he’d be out the window by now.

 

“You said you try to kill people who deserve it,” she presses. “Doesn’t a corrupt monarch sound like someone who deserves it?” 

 

He doesn’t respond, as he mulls over her proposition. “You only want me to teach you?” he clarifies after a few moments’ silence, and she nods in reply. 

 

He has a feeling he’s going to regret this as he says, “My price isn’t cheap by any means.”

 

“I can pay it,” she says firmly. 

 

“Send the man I met with earlier back to the tavern. I’ll give further details to him then,” he says. “If you’re going to do this, you need to do it quickly.”

 

“How do I know you won’t run away or try and kill me once we meet?” she asks.

 

“You’ll just have to risk it, won’t you?” he replies. “Just like I have to risk you bringing soldiers along with you.”

 

“I wouldn’t--” 

 

“You have a queen to see, princess. I’d get to that appointment.” He takes a few steps back, confident enough in her desperation that she won’t do anything to jeopardize their partnership.

 

“I wouldn’t bring guards,” she says quietly, lowering the blowdart gun ever so slightly. Perfect.

 

“So you do have some common sense. Wonderful, you shouldn’t trust anyone.”

 

“I know. I’ve learnt my lesson about that.” 

 

There’s a story behind that statement, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued.

 

“I’ll be leaving now,” he says. “We’ll see each other again soon enough.” And with that, he hurls the dagger, close enough to distract but not to kill. In the time it takes for her to react and recover, he’s already taken advantage of the nearby window.

  
A shame, really. He’d have loved to see the look on her face. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda filler, and a bit shorter than I'd like it to be, but oh well. Enjoy!

Daisy stares at the window where the Ghost Rider had escaped, feeling very small and alone all of a sudden, but even in the midst of all that, hopeful. 

 

There was hope.  He said he would help her, teach her. She was wary about sending Hunter back to meet him, but she knew Hunter could hold his own long enough to escape.

 

Still, her chances of defeating Jiaying were looking relatively more optimistic than they had a few months ago.

 

Jiaying. 

 

_ Damn.  _ She was supposed to be meeting the queen. 

 

She flies down the stairs, skirts flying behind her. She hates the dresses given to her with a passion; the silk and satin always feel like snakes were sliding up and down her body. How she misses the leather and wool clothes that the Shield, the rebel mercenary group Daisy had grown up in had always provided. 

 

The throne room is a gilded display of wealth that Daisy knows she’ll never get used to. When she first came to the castle, she was in awe. Now it all looks gaudy, and she knows it’s been bought with gold soaked in blood. 

 

Much like her own reign will be once Jiaying is dead. 

 

No, this is different, she tells herself. She’s freeing her people from tyranny. The deaths will stop with Jiaying.

 

Jiaying sits on her throne, the regal chair next to her empty as Daisy kneels in front of the steps to the throne. No doubt the king had taken ill again.

 

“You wanted to see me, Mother?” Daisy asks lightly. The word “Mother” tastes like acid on her tongue

 

Jiaying is beautiful, even with the scars that mar her body, a result of the terrible battles with King Whitehall of Hydra so many years ago. She keeps them hidden, with flowing skirts and gauzy sleeves, but nothing could hide the lines carved into her face. She was ethereal and terrifying every time Daisy saw her. 

 

This woman was not her mother and never would be.  An ache rises in her heart for May, the tough second-in-command of the Shield and closest thing Daisy had ever had to a true mother. 

 

Jiaying rises from her seat, elegant and fluid in her movements, skirts rustling as she glides down the steps to the throne. 

 

“My darling flower,” she says warmly as Daisy rises to acknowledge her, and Daisy tries not to flinch as Jiaying’s cold hands cup her face. “I merely wanted to make certain that you would be joining me for dinner again.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes as she says, “You spend so much time in your room nowadays, I feel distant from my only daughter.” 

 

Daisy pushes down the irritation that burns in her chest. Jiaying had taken to summoning her for mundane means, to remind her who is in control. She knew damn well why Daisy was being distant. 

 

“Of course, Mother,” she replies. “Will Father not be dining with us?” 

 

“I’m afraid not,” Jiaying says, a feigned somber look coming over her expression. “He is not feeling well this evening. But I’m sure I’ll have you to keep me company.”

 

“Indeed,” Daisy agrees, and Jiaying turns away, a silent dismissal. Daisy leaves as quickly as she can to find Hunter, trying to keep the anger in her heart from showing on her face.

 

The queen had no idea how much she truly knew. She thought Daisy was only aware of the experiments being done on the prisoners in the dungeons, but no. Daisy knew everything, the poisoning of the king, the payments made to pardon hardened criminals, and the dozens of people murdered for trivial matters. 

 

To say nothing of what happened to-

 

No. Now wasn’t the time to be caught up in feelings. Lincoln was dead, and there was nothing more to be said of the matter. If she wanted to avenge him and the others, she had to stay rational. 

 

The queen would pay in due time.

* * *

 

“How does one enter hell?” 

 

Robbie glances up through his hood. It’s not Hunter he sees, but a woman with golden hair and a mark between her eyes. 

 

“Become a sinner and give yourself over to the devil,” he answers. “Who are you?”

 

“I’m Bobbi. A...friend of Hunter’s.”

 

“He was too cowardly to come face me himself?”

 

“Another job came up,” she replies. “He does send his apologies for tricking you, however. But enough of that-let’s talk business.” 

 

“Very well,” Robbie says before sliding a piece of paper across the table. “She may meet me at this location, nowhere else, two hours after sundown. Our first meeting will be in two days.” Bobbi nodded, reaching to take the paper from him. 

 

He lifts it out of her reach. “If she brings guards-”

 

“She won’t,” Bobbi assures him. “The queen may have her followed, but that’s me and Hunter’s job to take care of. Your business and their clientele are safe.” A shadow crosses her expression as she says, “Sk-Daisy has sworn off involving guards in anything since-well, that’s not important. May I take that so we can both leave this pigsty?” She gestures at the paper in his hand. 

 

He gives it to her. She starts to stand, until he says, “You were going to call her another name. What was it?”

 

Bobbi looks at him. “Skye,” she replies softly. “It’s what we used to call her before they found her, before she took her...real name. Some of us still have trouble getting used to it.” She reaches into her cloak, and by instinct, his grip on his knife under the table tightens. 

 

“This is part of your payment, by the way,” she says, setting down a bag that clunks when hits the table. “Good night.”

 

And with that, she leaves. Half an hour passes, and Robbie rises from his seat as well. 

 

Later, inside the bag, Robbie finds jewelry that he saw on the princess’s dresser. Holding a ruby set in gold up to the light, he finds he’s rather curious to see how this contract will turn out. 


	5. Chapter 5

This has got to be one of the most stupid things she’s ever done, Daisy thinks as she steps into the old building. Once upon a time, it had been a flour mill by the river, now the room was empty and dark and lit only by candles on the floor and torches on the wall. 

 

She steps further inside cautiously, her boots clicking on the stone floor, dusted with old grain and straw. “Hello?” she whispers into the shadows, hand on the sword at her hip. “...Rider?” 

 

A hand gloved in leather claps over her mouth, stifling her shriek, and she reacts instinctively, driving her elbow behind her as hard as she can, loosening her attacker’s grip just enough to twist away, thrusting out a hand to shove them back, unsheathing her sword and leveling it at her opponent. The blade clashed with another in midair, only for Daisy to find the Rider’s grin illuminated by the torchlight in the room. 

 

“Not bad, princess,” he remarks.

 

“You-you  _ ass! _ ” she sputters, temporarily forgetting the uneasy foundations of their alliance. 

 

“You fight with a two-handed sword,” he notes. “Why is that?” 

 

“It was the only kind I could steal from the armory before I left the castle,” she answers. “I was being followed, I had to be fast.”

 

“Your friend from the tavern said that would be taken care of,” the Rider says.

 

“It’s not safe for them to be near the castle. I had to wait till I reached the woods for them to come,” she replies. 

 

“You didn’t mention that the queen suspects you.” He seemed aggravated at this information. 

 

“She-she doesn’t know how much I know. She thinks she’s done enough to keep me in line, but…I’m not stopped that easily,” Daisy says, thinking of the past and steeling her stance. 

 

“I hope so,” the Rider replies. “It takes an iron will to do this sort of thing. Mercy gets you nowhere.”

 

“So I’ve heard. I have no intention of giving the queen mercy.”

 

“Why is that?” the Rider prods, turning his sword in his hand.

 

“Why does the Ghost Rider care about my motivations? I thought you weren’t interested in your clients’ motives.”

 

“None of my clients have ever...matched me,” he says, a bit irritated. 

 

“You mean locked you in a closet,” she clarifies, amused.

 

His jaw clenches a bit as he raised his sword again. “No need for technicalities, princess.” 

 

“I told you not to call me that,” she says, parrying his blade before taking a swipe that he deflected.

 

“Why not? Isn’t that what you are?” He takes a step back, the two of them circling around each other like gladiators in a fight.

 

“By birth, maybe,” she admits. “But I spent twenty-six years as someone completely different. I’ve embraced my name, but I want nothing to do with the royalty.”

 

“Then why take out the queen? You are the heir, after all. It doesn’t make sense for you to strive for something that you don’t want.”

 

“It isn’t about what I want,” she says, her voice suddenly going soft, “It’s about what’s right.”

 

“How admirable.”

 

She bristles at the deadpan in his tone. “Surely even a man like you knows what it’s like to give up a part of yourself for a higher cause.”

 

“Are you insinuating that murder is a higher cause?” His voice melts along with hers, suddenly criminally gentle, daring her to flare up at him.

 

“Men like you aren’t born, they’re shaped by their choices and experiences. I don’t pretend to know yours, but I can tell you weren’t born a killer.” She locks eyes with him across their poor circle of threshed grain, and he’s the one who glances away first, even if only by a second.

 

He lets out a low breath, soon covering it with a chuckle as he shook his head. “You know, out of all of my clients, I think I’m going to enjoy this job...the least.”

 

“You’ll warm up to me,” she says with false confidence. “Everyone does.”

 

“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m not like everyone else,” he said, then suddenly lashing out with his sword. 

 

A bit startled, she failed to parry completely, the screech of metal against metal scraping the air near her ears as his blade forced her off her feet.

 

She hit the stone floor of the mill, about to get back up when the point of his sword dug in under her chin, a millimeter from piercing the hollow of her throat.

 

_ This is it _ , she thought,  _ he’s going to finish off the contract here and now. _

 

“You’ve heard the stories, princess,” he says, his tone like the caress of a dangerous lover, “You know I’m the last person who needs any sort of warmth.” 

 

His work as an arsonist was widely known, of course. Even she had been a bit disturbed at the stories of how some of his contracts had died at his hand and a torch. 

 

“You wanted me to teach you,” he went on. “Lesson one: don’t let your guard down. Ever. I thought you would’ve guessed that by now.”

 

The cold steel of his sword left her and he sheathed his weapon and turned on his heel. 

 

“Send your allies to the clearing of the forest. We’ll work out the details of the next meeting then.”

 

She didn’t answer as he walked out, brisk in his step, never once looking back. 

 

It seemed she’d hit a nerve. 

 

She looked down at her fist, at the scrap of cloth she’d gotten ahold of when he’d first grabbed her. 

 

A handkerchief, a silk square of crimson, the bottom left corner etched in gold with the letters  _ G.R. _

 

_ G.R. _

 

It had to stand for Ghost Rider, though he didn’t seem like the type of man to throw around his moniker like a noble trying to weasel their way into a party.

 

An order he was a part of?

 

The name of an old lover?  

 

The man was more and more of a mystery than she thought. 

 

Still, she had something, and that was enough. Stashing the handkerchief in her cloak, she rose to her feet. 

 

There was business at hand, that she had to finish. 


End file.
